


What Do You Do For Money, Honey?

by mariana_oconnor



Series: Clint Barton Bingo 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Although not how you might expect, Betrayal, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint is not an avenger, Fake Relationship, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, bucky is an avenger, clint barton is trying his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor
Summary: Clint just wanted to save his brother. He never meant it to get this far. He never realised that it would be such a difficult decision, when it came right down to it.





	What Do You Do For Money, Honey?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fake Relationship square on my [Clint Barton Bingo](https://clintbartonbingo.tumblr.com/) card. Not exactly what I first thought of when I saw that square... but this is what happened.
> 
> Much thanks again to [anony-mouse-writer](https://anony-mouse-writer.tumblr.com/) for the beta, and for helping me try to decide what to call this weird little fic.

It’s two am and Clint can’t do this. He just fucking can’t. It’s a catch 22 – and wouldn’t Barney be shocked if he knew Clint had read that book. But Barney’s the problem here, because that’s the other side of this problem: he can’t _not_ do this.

 

There is no right answer. One way Barney dies, the other way Clint fucks over someone who really doesn’t deserve it and possibly – probably – puts a lot of other people at risk. Clint’s brother isn’t going to die tomorrow, but at the same fucking time Clint really doesn’t want to give those guys access to the Avengers’ servers…

 

And he doesn’t want to screw over Bucky, either.

 

So here he is, sitting on the most expensive sofa he’s ever sat on, staring at cold coffee lit only by the infomercials playing on the screen on the far wall and telling himself he’s got to just fucking do it, before Bucky Barnes, Avenger, wakes up and finds that the other side of the bed is cold.

 

Clint’s never felt this much like a whore before, even if it isn’t his first time having sex for money. It _is_ the first time the person receiving the orgasms isn’t the one paying him, though. He shouldn’t be precious about it, he knows. This is life, it doesn’t exactly discriminate. Everyone gets screwed over in the end; it’s just that this time Clint is the screwer rather than the screwee – in both senses of the word.

 

The laptop is just lying right there. Innocent as a fucking baby. And Clint’s got the password, he’s got the fingerprint he needs. He can get right into it and into the Avengers database, the information he needs to save his brother’s life is right fucking there. But… but this is the Avengers, and Clint’s got to wonder what these files will actually mean. It’s not like this is a little bit of pick-pocketing. He’s looking at messing with world security, here. What if he’s going to kill hundreds of people with this? Fuck, what if he’s going to help a supervillain?

 

Harold always said he fucked everything up. Turns out, in the end, he was right after all.

 

The coffee mug doesn’t have any answers. What’s even the use of it? What’s the use of any of this? It isn’t saving Barney. Neither is he, for that matter, not unless he actually _does_ something instead of sitting here, caught in indecision. Clenching his fists till his fingernails cut into his palms, he starts to stand, looking at the laptop and trying to feel determined.

 

But what if he’s giving a supervillain plans to a fucking time machine? He sits back down. What if they go back in time and wipe out the Avengers? What if he’s going to destroy the world, all for his brother? What would Captain America say?

 

Oh God. Captain America is going to lock him up and throw away the key. Clint’s inner seven year old is cringing at the very thought. He feels very alone and small and lost. He’s not sure he’s ever been as alone as this. Barney’s always been somewhere, like a safety net beneath the tightrope. But now there’s nothing. He’s in the middle of New York, but he might as well be in the Siberian tundra. As if to emphasise his thought, the night winds are whistling past the windows and playing merry havok with his hearing aids. They’re just the wrong frequency and it’s like there’s a banshee screaming right inside his head.  He hugs his arms around himself and wishes his big brother were here. And there’s only one way to accomplish that.

 

Clint takes a deep breath and stands up again, fully this time, setting his shoulders as best he can and ignoring the hard, cold ball of horror in his stomach. Whichever way this shakes out, he’s pretty sure it’s going to be the worst thing he’s done in his life. How’s that for a choice? Catch fucking 22. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Clint’s not sure he believes in the soul, or god for that matter, but he’s pretty sure that killing your brother gets you a direct ticket to hell.

 

These last few days, he’s been… not happy, there’s no way to be happy knowing Barney’s tied to a chair in some bastard’s basement. But he’s seen something else, been given a brief, taunting glimpse of could-haves and if-onlys. He’s seen something that almost has him believing in people.

 

Bucky is… well, Clint had only ever seen him on the news before, glaring at the cameras, never more than two words to rub together. He’d been almost like he was in the comic books that Clint had owned as a child. Like a dark, gritty reboot no more real than a two dimensional image. Untouchable and more an idea than a person.

 

Then Clint had met him and discovered a sense of humour that cuts sharper than the knives Bucky carries. Learned that he’s sweet to his bones and will blush like a peach if you notice. That he’s thoughtful both in and out of bed – and hadn’t that been a revelation all its own. Clint’s never really been with someone you’d call ‘considerate’. People who could break him in two, yes. Frenzied back alley fumbles with guys with razor-sharp smiles . Memorable nights with women who’d arched their eyebrows and their backs, flexible, but not soft, not in the same way.

 

But this morning he woke up to Bucky whistling in the kitchen, his hair up all sloppy in a bun that was slipping to one side, making pancakes, and Bucky'd looked up and smiled, this slow-spreading half smile that lit up his eyes, so Clint had kissed him. Just so he didn’t have to look at that smile and know that he was stealing it. Just because that smile was directed at him and no one’s ever looked that happy to see Clint Barton coming towards them before. So he’d kissed Bucky Barnes full on the lips, never minding the bowl of batter and the whisk between them, and he’d closed his eyes and pretended for just a second that this was real. That all of this was real.

 

He’s not going to pretend that he could break the guy’s heart. A week long fling isn’t enough – Clint Barton isn’t enough, even on his best behaviour – for that. But whispered conversations and tentative text messages have revealed a guy who’s only just learning to trust again.

 

Clint stares at the laptop. He can’t fuck over his brother for a good lay. He’s not that guy. But can he fuck over a good guy, and possibly the whole world for his asshole of a brother? Clint balls his hands into fists and he wants to scream in frustration.

 

“Don’t do it.”

 

Clint freezes, eyes widening. The voice came from behind him, from the door to the bedroom. The door through which Bucky had been fast asleep. Clint’s hands are poised halfway to the laptop.

 

“I’m not allowed to check my email?” he says as blandly as he can. It’s actually pretty impressive he can construct a sentence right now, his mind is just blaring _shitshitshitshit_ like a siren. Caught by the Winter Soldier, practically red handed.

 

“We both know that’s not what you’re doing,” Buc- No, Clint’s pretty sure he’s lost the right to call him that. The Winter Soldier is talking, although his voice is still syrup soft in the hazy night time fuzz.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clint says, knowing he sounds desperate. “I was just…”

 

“Going to steal the blueprints for the repulsor tech,” the Winter Soldier says flatly.

 

“No!” Clint says, then pauses because, honestly, he doesn’t know what he was about to steal. “I mean… shit, was I?”

 

“You didn’t know?”

 

Clint finally turns around and he almost whimpers at the sight, because it’s like staring at an all you can eat buffet through a window. Bucky’s standing in the doorway, naked as he was when they fucked two hours ago. The marks of Clint’s mouth and fingernails are fading on his skin, super soldier serum erasing Clint like nothing more than a bad memory. The TV light casts flickers of colour on his skin, highlighting abs and biceps Clint’s fingers itch to trace again. His hair is still a mess from sleeping and Clint’s hands. His mouth, which Clint remembers tasting hours ago, has firmed into a frown.

 

“I…” Clint runs out of words. “Shit, I…”

 

“You can go now. No harm, no foul,” Bucky says.

 

“You’d just… let me go?” Clint asks, astonished. His eyes flicker to the doors, the windows, waiting to see if Captain America and Iron Man are about to leap through. Maybe the Hulk. He probably deserves the Hulk.

 

“You ain’t done anything wrong… yet,” Bucky tells him, and there’s a heavy weight to his voice. Because they both know that’s not true. Clint hasn’t stolen anything but Bucky’s trust, and that’s worse. That’s so much worse. Clint takes a step towards him and Bucky straightens, the plates of his arm whirring as they adjust, his other arm flexing slightly too. It’s as clear a ‘don’t you fucking dare’ as Clint is going to get.

 

He’s screwed. He can’t save anything now. He took too long making the decision and now everything’s lost.

 

“They have my brother,” he says. “Fuck. They took Barney. I didn’t… I wouldn’t have… I needed a way in.”

 

“And I was an easy sucker for a pretty smile and a game of darts,” Bucky says, matter of fact, like he’s resigned to it, like he _understands_.

 

“No,” Clint corrects. “You are the most difficult thing ever,” he says. Bucky blinks and Clint realises that maybe that wasn’t the compliment he meant it as. “I mean… I was going to just… talk. I just wanted information – maybe a way in, and then you were…” he waves a hand at Bucky, all of Bucky. “I… I’m… I never meant it to get this far, but… I’m not good at doing the right thing.”

 

“Yeah? Colour me surprised,” Bucky sounds gruff, but his eyes are avoiding Clint’s face. “Who has your brother?”

 

Clint thinks for a moment. He’s already screwed. If the Avengers know what he’s here for then he can’t get out with it. He’s never going to see Bucky again, so he might as well make the most of his crappy situation. He opens his mouth and begins to talk. He tells the Avenger his whole, sorry tale, forcing himself to be as honest as he knows how.

 

When he’s poured it all out, the stupid story in all its glory, and some unnecessary asides about his life as well, they’re sitting on the sofa, legs curled up underneath them, facing each other and Clint feels hollow on the inside.

 

“I have to save Barney,” he says, empty and small. He sounds 8 years old again to his own ears. “He’s my brother.”

 

“You’re a piece of work, Barton,” Bucky says, but he’s saying it in the sort of way that doesn’t usually lead to violence. Clint’s good at telling that, these days. Trial and error is a great teaching method. Bucky reaches forwards with one hand and, no matter how gentle the tone of voice, Clint flinches back anyway. Bucky looks at him sadly and maybe a little resigned, before wiping away a tear Clint wasn’t aware he had allowed to fall. “You know what my day job is, right?”

 

“Yeah, the metal arm’s kind of a clue,” Clint says, wondering where Bucky’s going with this. “If you were trying for a secret identity, I’ve got some bad news for you.”

 

“So you know that we fight bad guys,” Bucky goes on. Clint winces. Yeah, this isn’t going any place good.

 

“Captain America’s going to punch me in the face,” Clint says. Bucky blinks and a flicker of amusement crosses his features.

 

“It’d be Steve Rogers punching you in the face,” he corrects. “Captain America believes in second chances, though. God knows he’s given me enough of them.” Clint manages to keep his disbelief off his face – he doesn’t think Captain America’s going to be particularly gung-ho about giving him the benefit of the doubt.

 

“That’s not the same,” Clint tells him, glaring at Bucky. “Look, I’ll testify. I’ll go to jail, or whatever prison you throw supervillains in, just… let me save Barney?”

 

“No,” Bucky says, and Clint’s heart sinks like lead. He opens his mouth to argue, but a metal finger and thumb gently hold his lips closed. “You’re gonna stay here and you’re gonna let me do my job.” Clint stares at him and he sighs. “We’re the good guys, or so they keep telling me. Who else do you think is gonna save the damsel in distress?”

 

*

 

It takes them three hours. Three hours, that’s all. Clint’s been a mess for a week and it takes them three hours to save Barney, get the bad guy and solve everything. And one of those hours is Tony Stark threatening him while Captain America crosses his arms and looks disappointed.

 

There is no sight quite as withering as Captain America being disappointed in you. They should make posters of that and stick them up in high crime areas.

 

There’s no chance of escape, not with Stark’s personal Big Brother bot and Dr Banner keeping an eye on him. Clint in turn is keeping a wary eye on the doc, looking out for any tinge of green, but he stays calm and seemingly uninterested, watching the late night repeats of some hospital programme that pays more attention to how pretty its lead characters are than anything resembling medical facts.

 

Clint wants to move, wishes he had gone with them, wishes he could make a run for it, but he’s stuck there in the Avengers living quarters, watching terrible TV as time seems to slow to a molasses trickle, each second oozing along.

 

Then they’re back, pushing through the door one after the other, piling in. Stark is jabbering , occasionally punctuated by a comment from the Widow, who gives Clint a look that chills his blood. Cap looks tired to his core and Bucky… Bucky’s dragging Barney behind him before shoving him towards Clint.

 

“Hey, little brother,” Barney says, shooting Bucky a half-hearted glare as he straightens himself out. “What the fuck you get us into this time?” Clint wilts.

 

“He saved your sorry ass,” Bucky interrupts, earning him looks from all the other Avengers. Dr Banner gets up and walks over, reaching for Barney, who shrugs him off.

 

“I was going to check that cut on your forehead,” Dr Banner says mildly.

 

“I can take a damn punch,” Barney says, rolling his shoulders and swaying towards Clint, looking him in the eye, and Clint can see the question there: how are we getting out? What’s the plan?

 

Clint mentally shrugs back, glancing away from Barney’s expectant look. He doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen now. Barney’s the one with the big picture ideas. Barney got them into the circus, Barney finds their jobs, Barney greases the wheels. Clint plans out the little things, makes suggestions, getaways, and when it’s really needed, the shots.

 

“So, wanna tell us how you two ended up crossing paths with AIM?” Stark asks. He’s still mostly  in the Iron Man suit, and somehow it looks a lot more impressive up close. “Some sort of bad guy mailing list? Villains R Us?”

 

“Tony,” Captain America warns, but Stark just rolls his eyes and continues.

 

“Just wanted to know whether AIM called 1-800-honey trap.”

 

“He’s not a professional,” Black Widow cuts in. She steps over to Clint and looks him right in the eye, Clint stares back, too scared to blink, too scared to breathe. “He’s not trained. He’s barely competent.” Clint’s pride prickles. “Probably doesn’t know one end of a gun from the other.”

 

Clint’s hands are moving before his brain can catch up, because he knows what he’s good at and she isn’t damn well going to tell him otherwise. Her gun’s right there, in a holster on her belt and with practised ease, he pulls it out, snaps off the safety, makes a quick calculation, and fires.

 

The bullet ricochets off the bullet proof windows, shanks off  the centre of Cap’s shield with a muted ring, and hits the dart board hanging in the corner, a perfect bullseye.

 

The whine of repulsors fills the air and… Clint hadn’t really thought that through, huh? Bucky’s drawn his gun without batting an eye, pointing it right at Clint’s centre of mass. He lets the gun swing round on his finger and slowly raises his hands up and out, even as Widow is waving her colleagues down.

 

“He’s not dangerous,” she says, without looking away from him. Her lips quirk into what might be a smile. “Well, not to us.”

 

“Maybe don’t shoot a gun that close to me,” Dr Banner says, and, although he sounds calm, when Clint looks at him he looks a bit green along his throat. Clint swallows.

 

“You fucking idiot,” Barney says. “What were you thinking?”

 

“My fault, I wanted to see what he’d do,” Widow says, taking her gun back. “I thought you might be good. I didn’t think you’d be that good. Your file vastly understates your abilities.”

 

“My file?” Clint asks.

 

“He has a file?” Bucky asks at the same time. “When did you have time to read that?” She turns to look at him, finally releasing Clint from her gaze.

 

“When you got all heart eyes about a complete stranger.”

 

“You ran a background check?” Bucky asks. “Without telling me?”

 

“You were doing well enough on your own,” she says. “I didn’t want to step on your toes. And you two seem well suited to each other.”

 

“What?” Barney asks, looking from Clint to Bucky and back. “What the fuck are they talking about, Clint?” And Clint cringes because he’s never really had the ‘sometimes I like boys’ conversation with his brother, but it looks like he’s about it have it at high speed and in public. “You… what did you do?”

 

“He wormed his way into Avengers property through the Winter Wonder’s pants,” Tony says. “Like he was told to.”

 

Barney looks like someone hit him upside the head with a clue-by-four, and he stares at Clint, then back at Bucky.

 

“Seriously, this guy?” he asks, which, to be fair, is better than Clint thought it would be. Clint looks down at his shoes and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

 

“I guess,” he says.

 

“Huh…” Barney says. It sounds worryingly like things are clicking together in his head, things that Clint’s always been very careful to keep separate. He’s about to say something more, when Bucky cuts in.

 

“Fuck off,” Bucky growls. Clint doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to see what look is on Bucky’s face right now.

 

“So, the question comes down to, what are we going to do with the pair of you? Are you house trained?” Tony asks. “I mean obviously we can’t just let you roam free, that would be very irresponsible of us.”

 

That’s seems to shake Barney out of his daze.

 

“What do you mean? In case you didn’t notice, I haven’t done a fucking thing wrong – unless getting kidnapped by jackasses is against the law, now. And anything Clint did he was doing to save my fucking life. Coercion. I ain’t a goddamn lawyer, but I know what that means. The kid’s a good guy.”

 

“SHIELD did have him tagged as a person of interest,” Widow says, adjusting her cuffs.

 

“Potty mouth over there?” Stark asks.

 

“Clint,” Captain America says.

 

This is it, Clint thinks as Captain America strides over to him, hands hooked in his belt. He’s about to get punched in the face by Captain America, or Steve Rogers, if Bucky is to be believed. “She means Clint.”

 

“I’m not interesting,” Clint says quickly, gulping, and looking over at Bucky, at Barney, at Widow, who’s eyeing her nails with clearly fake interest and looking supremely bored with the proceedings. “I’m dull as a rock. Completely uninteresting. Ask Barney.”

 

“I fall asleep while he’s talking all the time,” Barney agrees. “Boring as they come.”

 

“You? Shut it,” Bucky says, pushing Barney down into a chair. “What are you talking about, Natalia?”

 

She never looks up from her nails as she twitches an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction, “I mean that SHIELD used to pay attention to people with certain skill-sets, that’s where I got his file from. It was in Coulson’s collection. He thought Clint… had potential.”

 

“Potential to what? Be a pain in our collective asses?” Stark mutters, but Widow continues like he hasn’t said a thing.

 

“So, I’m suggesting community service,” she says. “He’s already shown us what he can do with a gun. I’ve heard he’s better with a bow.”

 

“A bow?” Stark asks. “So he’s an expert in some medieval weapon-”

 

“Palaeolithic,” Clint corrects, but Stark doesn’t notice. Captain America does, though, and Clint sees the look he shoots over at him, like he’s amused. At least he’s not punching Clint.

 

“And that’s supposed to make us forget that he was trying to _steal_ my tech?”

 

“Almost succeeded in stealing your tech,” Bucky adds. “If I hadn’t woken up…”

 

“How’s that supposed to make me feel better about this?” Stark demands. “It’s not really endearing him to me.”

 

“He’s an untrained amateur who came up with a plan to infiltrate the most secure building on the planet and carried it out – solo – and almost completed it successfully,” Widow says. “There was only one flaw.”

 

“And what was that? Not monitoring the ice man’s liquid intake to make sure his bladder wouldn’t wake him up in the middle of the night?” Stark snarks.

 

“He’s a good man,” Captain America says, with the utter certainty that makes it sound like he can make words true just by saying them. Clint blinks and looks at him in horror. He no longer has a clue what’s even happening. “Bucky said he watched you for ages. You didn’t want to do it. If you’d just gone for it, you could have been out of there with the files before anyone even knew you were missing. But you had second thoughts.”

 

“I was going to do it,” Clint corrects, because indecision isn’t any reason for Captain America to call him ‘good’.

 

“Your brother’s life was on the line. We all understand that threats like that can drive people to do things that they wouldn’t in other circumstances.”

 

Captain America’s hand comes up to rest on Clint’s shoulder, and he looks directly into Clint’s eyes. Fuck. He squeezes, just a bit too tight.

 

“He’s not going to do anything like that again. Are you, Clint?”

 

“No, sir,” Clint says, automatically.

 

“Good, then I think we’re all agreed,” Captain America says, releasing Clint’s shoulder and turning round.

 

“What just happened?” Clint whispers, and Bucky steps forwards. He’s in his full Winter Soldier gear, leather, guns, buckles and all. Clint has a moment where his mouth runs dry and his eyes linger before he remembers that he’s no longer allowed to look and drags his eyes back up to Bucky’s face.

 

“You just agreed to try to earn our trust back,” Bucky says, his voice is bland, but there’s something in his eyes that is softer than Clint deserves. “Think you’re up to it?”

 

No, is the honest answer.

 

“I think I’m gonna try,” is what he says instead. His eyes stick on Bucky’s and he risks a half-smile, which is met by a nod before Bucky turns and leaves the room.

 

“What about me?” Barney speaks up after Bucky is gone, showing his usual flair for self preservation, and Stark sighs.

 

“I can probably find something for you to do. Security? You look like you could do security. What’s your opinion on badges?”

 

Clint leaves them to it and slumps down onto the sofa, feeling a little like he’s been caught up in a whirlwind. Black Widow sits down next to him and picks up the remote control, flicking the channel over to some mindless action film.

 

“You’re going to be fine,” she says, pulling her legs up to tuck underneath her. “He’ll understand.”

 

“He shouldn’t,” Clint tells her. He doesn’t need to ask who they’re talking about. There are about two ‘he’s in Clint’s life, and it’s definitely not Barney.

 

“Maybe not,” she agrees, still contentedly watching Jason Statham run away from an explosion. “But we’re used to the grey areas, he and I. We know that sometimes there are no good choices. And sometimes things happen that you aren’t expecting.” She pauses and contemplates the screen for a second. “You are a thing he was not expecting.”

 

“I…”

 

“He’s done worse,” she says. “I can guarantee you. As have I. As have all of us. You’re going to fit right in.” She finally looks at Clint, to flash him a grin that’s more teeth than smile. “And if you’re sticking around, we should be properly introduced. I’m Natasha Romanoff.” She holds out her hand. “Codename: Black Widow.”

 

Clint takes her hand.

 

“Clint Barton,” he responds, trying to return her firm grip. “Codename…” he pauses for a second. “Codename: Hawkeye. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Nice to meet you, too, Hawkeye.”


End file.
